


Although

by RobinCase



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bittersweet, Canon Era, M/M, Requited Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 04:03:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15016268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinCase/pseuds/RobinCase
Summary: Gwaine is back. For a day. A night. An instant. Percival knows he can't rely on him. He knows. And although...





	Although

 

** Although **

 

Percival had just lied down, when it knocked on the door. Well, less of a knock, more of a slam. Two times, one after the other. He hadn’t been fully asleep and raised in shock. Moaning he pushed himself up and shoved his feet over the edge of his bed. Drowsyly he wiped his sleepy eyes.

 

The lights in his chambers were low. The fire had burned down. The floor was cold to his bare feet and he was tempted to lie back down.

 

It knocked again, even harder this time. Percival yawned and got up. Unenthused he scuffed towards the door. He was so drugged with sleep that he didn’t even try to think about who would be bothering him this late. He was wearing old sleeping trousers. Who cared? He opened the door. And blinked.

 

He blinked again. This couldn’t be true. He couldn’t let go of the door because it would click shut. But he was glad he had something to lean on. His opposite seemed to be glad too – to have something to lean on.

 

Gwaine stood in the doorframe, holding onto the wall with two fingers, and grinned like a Cheshire cat. He said nothing. Percival said nothing either, just laughed as his heartbeat sped up about four hundred from one second to the other. Adrenaline flooded through his veins. Percival just stood there and stared at him.

Couldn’t believe it and just stood there, halfway through the door. There they stood, in the middle of the night, and laughed. Not loud. Not bright. Stood there and laughed.

 

Percival could have stood there a while longer and laughed, because he didn’t know how to react. He had often thought about it. That this day, rather this night, would come, maybe. Had hoped it at least. He just had never seen the end, no matter how he had imagined his encounter with Gwaine. But now it happened.

 

Crazy laughing and standing in the doorway with his brain shut down hadn’t been what he pictured in any case. Oh, he had forgotten how this felt. How real _Gwaine_ felt. Even after all this time. This arrow that hit his head and rendered him incapable of thinking straight. He had no idea what to do. Did he have to do anything? Couldn’t they just stand here a little longer? No matter what was going to come. It wouldn’t end well. It never had.

 

And Gwaine couldn’t stand longer.

 

“Do you have some water for me?”

 

“Course.”

 

They were still laughing, both of them. Percival took a few steps back. Away from the door. Towards the jar on his nightstand. Gwaine followed him. As if it was the most natural thing, standing drunken in front of Percival’s door and asking for a cup of water. He almost staggered from one wall into the other. Goodness. Was he drunk.

 

Percival poured him a cup of water. Gwaine stumbled after him shaking his boots from his feet. Then swaying he paused and tried to get rid of his gloves. It seemed to be a difficult task. One dropped to the floor, than the other. Gwaine dropped onto his bed. There he sat, propping his elbows to his knees and his head to his hands, looking up to Percival. Smiling brightly all over his face, his eyes lustrous.

 

Percival stared back, eyes wide open. He couldn’t help it. Never had. Never could give Gwaine anything but his undivided attention.

 

“Hi.”

 

“Hey.”

 

Gwaine laughed.

 

“You’re still living here”, he stated.

 

“Yeah, sometimes, sure. Else in the castle, right?”

 

Gwaine clutched onto the bedpost and swayed slowly back and forth. Percival laughed. So drunk. So wasted. As always.

 

“What are you doing here?”, Percival asked.

 

“Well. I live here. Too. Sometimes, that is.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“And tonight the ship arrived.”

 

“The ship?”

 

“The ship, well boat, you know.”

 

“No, I don’t. What boat, Gwaine?”

 

Gwaine shook his head as if he couldn’t understand what took Percival so long. Yeah. All clear. The ship, right?

 

“The ship. On the river.”

 

Gwaine pointed insistently in the direction of the wardrobe. Percival nodded slowly, feigned comprehension. In any case _the ship_ had something to do with alcohol.

 

“Well. The ship.”

 

Gwaine waved his hand dismissively as if it didn’t matter anymore. He forgot that he had been leaning on that hand with all his weight, lost his balance, slipped a little off the bed, caught himself at the bedpost again and grinned at Percival. You know, right? He had never cared much about making a fool of himself while he was drunken. That was just how he was. As a knight he was eager. In the battle he couldn’t afford mistakes. To many lives at stake. After three or five mugs of mead he just wanted to be a big dork.

 

Percival set the cup of water on the nightstand in front of Gwaine and sat down. He leaned back and studied Gwaine. He didn’t have to say anything. He didn’t want to say anything either. What should he even say? Everything had been said between them. They had talked so much, debated so much. Actually there was nothing left to say.

 

Gwaine emptied his pockets onto the nightstand. A few coins. A handful of pipe tobacco. A shard of something broken. A tad cord. A Key. Keep it simple.

 

“What are you doing here?”, Percival asked again.

 

“Used to live here once, y’ know?”, Gwaine slurred. Percival laughed.

 

“Yeah. Alright.”

 

He rolled his eyes.

 

“Do you have somebody? Is your boyfriend home?”

 

Gwaine deserved something different. He deserved to be lied to. He deserved to hear Percival was in a tender, warm relationship with the man of his dreams. Gwaine deserved to know Percival lost for good. God knows, he really would have deserved it.

But Percival wasn’t good at lying. He wasn’t good at acting. And he didn’t want to. He had never felt like playing games. He always wanted to mean what he said. And always wanted to be free to say what he meant. Otherwise life made no sense to him.

 

Gwaine was different. Always had been. Gwaine laid his hand onto Percival’s knee and caressed it.

 

“No, no boyfriend. I always fall for the wrong guys. You know that.”

 

A heart as heavy as stone. Percival saw the relief and delight showing on Gwaine’s face. Percival only sat there and looked at him. Gwaine took Percival’s right leg into his hands and laid it over his thighs. He stroked Percival’s calf, kissed his knee and held his foot in his hands. Percival smiled.

 

“You have so pretty legs. So tiny toes.”

 

Percival smiled. Gwaine laid his head onto his thigh and all at once Percival found his own hands in Gwaine’s hair.

 

“How your hair feels, man. So short.”

 

He stroked through the short trimmed hairs. Knew, he should give it a miss. Knew, he shouldn’t get himself to much into touching him. Knew, he touched him enough. Everything was alright. It was alright.

 

With a jerk Gwaine sat up, blinked at Percival, with bright eyes, which wasn’t even in the slightest able to focus onto him. Gwaine took a sip of water. Percival folded his hands in his lap, still smiling. God, he simply couldn’t stop smiling if he looked at Gwaine. And he couldn’t stop looking at him. This was a performance. He was allowed to just lean back and enjoy.

 

“Where is your boyfriend?”

 

“I have none.”

 

Gwaine stroked his leg again, stroked his instep, tipped his toes. Intrigued he regarded Percival’s shank as if he’d never seen a shank and if Percival’s shank was the most beautiful shank of all times.

 

Percival didn’t asked again what Gwaine was doing here. He didn’t have to ask.

 

He himself had passed Gwaine many times in his thoughts. Had met him fortuitous on some dusty road, or deep in the forest. In a foreign village far from Camelot. In a shabby tavern. Between random houses. In his thoughts. So many theoretic opportunities. So many lost chances.

 

“Y’ know. Perce. You know. You. Always. You are always. Were always. Will always. Fuck.”

 

Yes. He knew. Gwaine leaned forward again, took Percival’s hand into his own. Where it fit so well. Where it had always fit so well.

 

Percival said nothing. What should he say anyway. He didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to concede it to Gwaine. Not anymore. Didn’t want to play by Gwaine’s rules. Because Gwaine always took what he could get. Like a pirat. Boarding and Capsizing. Blazing and burning to death.

 

“How’s Rina?”, he asked instead. Gwaine shrugged. Alright, right?

 

“How’s your boyfriend?”, Gwaine asked again and Percival sighed in silence.

 

He remembered.

 

\+ + +

 

“Who is he? Are you sleeping with him? Is he shagging you? God. Fuck, ey. Not my business, isn’t it?”

 

“Gwaine, what’s up? What’re you fussing about?”

 

Percival shoved Gwaine off him to figure out his expression. Angry. Little lost, maybe.

 

Gwaine was the one with a girlfriend after all, okay? Wasn’t his business at all whom Percival was talking to. If the mate of the bartender gave him a roguish wink, well, what about it? And if his hand just by accident landed on Percival’s back and just by accident slipped a little lower in front of Gwaine’s eye. Why not? And it wouldn’t bother Percival if Gwaine tossed down tree drinks after Percival hadn’t _no, thanks_ wanted to go outside with him and catch some fresh air.

 

“I mean, is he? I mean, it’s your business, right? With whom you’re sleeping. Hey, d’ya have a coin. Thanks, thanks.”

 

Percival didn’t know what to say.

 

Gwaine was right. It _was_ his business with whom he was sleeping. There wasn’t really a chance he saw himself go home with the friend of the bartender. That Gwaine thought it within the bounds of possibility had something amusing after all. How he was supposed to think about the fact that it seemingly bothered Gwaine so much he couldn’t say.

 

“What are you expecting?”, he asked over the buzz of voices in the room and wasn’t even sure if Gwaine understood him. He saw Gwaine looking over his shoulder to a group of laughing people and got angry.

 

“Think I head home”, Gwaine stated.

 

“Fine”, Percival said sourly and turned away. Douchebag.

 

Percival stayed until the tavern closed, snogged halfheartedly in a dark corner of the backyard, exchanged words, and walked home. Alone. Doorlock. Key. Unlocking.

 

As he found Gwaine’s jacket at the coat hook and his boots on the floor in front of his bed, he was annoyed. This _really_ leads to _nothing._ And he was happy. Although.

 

Percival stood in the doorframe and watched Gwaine for a while - lying snorting on his bed. Naked apart from his underpants and his socks. On the belly, legs and arms stretched out all over the blankets. Percival sat down on the edge of the bed and gently stroked over his back to wake him up.

 

“Gwaine. Hey.”

 

“Mhm, Perce.”

 

Gwaine opened his eyes squinting and was about to pull Percival down into a hug.

 

“You can’t sleep here.”

 

“Mhm. Can’t I?”

 

Puppy eyes. Breath of alcohol and pipe smoke.

 

“No, you can’t.”

 

“Percival.” Gwaine wiped his eye. “Percival, it’s fucking me up. I hate it if you – with other guys. No. Can I sleep here?”

 

“Why aren’t you sleeping at Rina’s?”

 

The chamber was much to bright for this conversation. The sky outside was turning morning blue. But Percival would have wished for beaming sun light to dissect Gwaine’s words, to peruse them of their substance. Back then it still had mattered. If Gwaine was serious about it. Eventually he had learnt that it was meaningless. Only loving somebody wasn’t enough. You also had to live this love. You had to be willing to eat sherds for love.

 

Rina was a pale imitation of everything Percival could be for Gwaine. But Rina was a constant. Percival was an unpredictable danger to his easy life.

 

“Y’know. Perce. Sometimes. I think. There. I just want you. But that can’t be, right? But. I can’t stand it. Cause, you can do what you want.”

 

Percival didn’t want to _do what he wants_. Basically he wanted very little apart from sitting here, Gwaines head in his lap, and wishing that this could be the world, that there was no tomorrow, no outside, no elsewhere and no other people. And that Gwaine’s heart could be that way. How he wished for it to be like that.

 

“I mean, havn’t you considered it? How it could be. If it can be. D’ ya think we could? I mean. You and I. Y’ know? That would be-”

 

“Gwaine. Shut up. Really.”

 

“I could puke. If you. Who was that? Who _was_ it? Is he coming over here now? Was that your boyfriend?”

 

Gwaine touched Percival everywhere he could reach him. Percival didn’t want that. He knew that Gwaine’s hands were dirty. That he had touched stable doors with it. That he had wiped over bar tables with it. He had touched Rina with this hands. And strange breasts and strange cocks. And although. He cupped Gwaine’s hand in his, stroked its back, kissed its knuckles. Each touch was a fist blow into his face. And Percival was the greatest masochist.

 

“Man. Percival. Ya know. I _want_ you.”

 

Yeah. And I want sunshine and a horse farm. And you, whatever will _you_ want tomorrow? But Percival said nothing. It wouldn’t help anymore. It wouldn’t make it better. Nothing would make it better. It just was, what it was. Percival laid down, exactly as he was, beside Gwaine, looked into his boozy eyes and wandered _seriously_ what he saw in this man whose hand were wandering aimlessly over his skin now.

 

And eventually _that_ was all he wanted. That Gwaine wanted _him._ And as much as he felt that it was _real_ , that it was incredible hot, that it was the absolute best sex of all time for both of them, that they _both_ never had somebody better. As much as he knew all that, this knowledge was _absolute_ useless for him. It didn’t help anything if Gwaine rode back outside into the wide world the evening, or the next day, back to his girlfriend, stange arms, back to his other life.

 

And although.

 

\+ + +

 

Only the fact that it was _real,_ no matter how broken it was. Only the fact had made Percival sacrifice his heart. Even if he had known that his heart was far to big for Gwaine. That he wouldn’t be able to carry it. That he would drop it because he didn’t want to get crushed by it.

 

Percival had, eventually, far to late, long after there had been no turning back for them, accepted that it wouldn’t work. Couldn’t work. It wasn’t because they would have to keep it a secret. It wasn’t because they couldn’t get along with any quirks. It wasn’t because _normally_ Percival found broader guys with blond hair hotter or because _normally_ Gwaine liked women yet a little more.

 

It wasn’t because the sex wasn’t good. Sure, their first time had been a little clumsy but even back then, they had instantly known, that it _fit._ That it fit pretty damn perfect and that it was just going to get better still. They had known each other for years but hadn’t known how the other was. In situation like this, that is. How he was. What he liked to. And dammit, how _hot_ he could be.

 

Percival had also accepted that it wasn’t because they didn’t love each other. They loved each other in such a broken way that they did the craziest shit for each other.

 

But they both hadn’t wanted to accept that for a long time. That with the love, that is. For a long time they both had thought that it was just sex and that it was _okay._ It was agitating and heady and new and so damn hot. And the step from training, drinking and talking under night dark trees at the border of the Darkning forest to training, drinking, talking and sleeping with each other under night dark trees of the Darkning forest wasn’t such a wide one, as they had thought after it happened for the first time.

 

The first time.

 

Percival remembered.

 

\+ + +

 

Back than, in the tavern. After their victory over the Saxons. As they went out with the other knights. Gwaine totally tight, as always. Percival himself completely sober, as always. But with this victory and the rousing carols from hundreds of hoarse throats he needed no alcohol. Endorphin still flooded through his veins. The dim light of the flickering flames. The reveling faces spread in beaming smiles swimming by. The buzz of hundreds of voices. The praise. The pats on his shoulders. He felt so hot. He felt _so_ good.

 

The last thing he missed was a body to share his rapture with. And then, there had been Gwaine. The pub was so jam-packed. There were enough girls in there. But right at that moment Gwaine stood directly in front of him. Lost in thoughts. Eyes closed. Head laid back. Swaying in the crowd, the song, the laughter, the joy. A mug of mead in his hand and Percival took a step toward him. The first step. Swayed on in the rhythm of the song. Adapting Gwaine's motions. Leaning into him. Without touching. God, how he wanted to touch him. Percival opened his eyes as he felt his proximity.

 

Percival grinned, simply because he always had to grin when he saw Gwaine. Like a psychological reflex he couldn’t prevent.

 

Somebody began to stomp the ground in tact of the song. Tremendous. Gwaine grinned back and curiously lifted one eyebrow as he saw the lust in Percival’s eyes. Somebody jostled against Percival from behind. He stumbled a little forward. And there was Gwaine’s arm catching him. Gwaine’s arm staying where it was. The stomping that drove their bodies in the same rhythm. Percival’s arm that pulled Gwaine closer for a few seconds so that their hips bumped together. Gwaine’s finger that clasped into Percivals shirt. Gwaine who buried his face in Percival’s neck and breathed warm air to Percival’s key bone. Percival’s hand that cupped Gwaine’s head and pushed him into his chest. The last two stomps. And over.

 

Gwaine who pushed him back, his forehead to Percival’s, broke away, grinned at him, faltered, astonishment and arousal in his eye. He squeezed Percival’s hand and let go. Started moving to the next song. Jumping around sweepingly. Cheering at somebody.

 

Shit. Shit. Shit. Mind fuck.

 

Percival had walked away, got himself some water and then retreated into an dark corner. The crowd was still singing and dancing. Eventually Gwaine had found him. Had stood beside him, had grinned at him, had bit his lower lip, blinked, stepped from one foot to the other. Until he leaned against the wall beside Percival after all and laid a hand onto Percival's arm. Percival was sure it had something to do with steadying himself against toppling over in his jag. Percival had laughed, then leaned over and shouted something into his ear.

 

“You know what you’re doing there, right?”

 

“What _am_ I doing?”, Gwaine asked back innocently, still grinning.

 

“You’re hitting pretty hard on me.”

 

“And is that a bad thing?”

 

“Not in the slightest. Just wanted you to know.”

 

Gwaine was still grinning and Percival laughed, and yes, they both knew exactly what they were doing. Just, what they would get themselves into, they hadn’t known at all.

 

Drunken sex outside the town in the shadow of the first forest trees and sleeping in separate beds, became drunken sex with waking up together, became morning cuddling, became breakfast in bed, became sober sex, became riding out together for a picnic, became long talks, became very, very much cozy lover’s shit.

 

Only, at the end it didn’t matter much if you behave like lovers, if you weren’t. And if Gwaine rode back to Rina time and again, doing similar lover’s shit with her. So, Percival tried not to get too much worked up about it. So, Gwaine tried not to get too much worked up about it.

 

\+ + +

 

“Ey, are you fucking him?”

 

“Is that any of your business all of a sudden?”

 

Hadn’t worked. With the _not getting worked up about it,_ that is. Hadn’t worked for a second, with the _not getting worked up about it._

 

But even if Gwaine’s heart was with Percival, his head never was. Gwaine knew he was egoistic. And Percival knew Gwaine was egoistic. Gwaine would always sleep with other women. He would always put himself first. He would never loose his head, never completely, for another person than himself. For him his pleasure would always be the most important, his duty, his freedom. He would have a desolate Percival sitting beside him and wouldn’t understand what he did wrong. He was blind to the needs of others.

 

And eventually, it just didn’t work any longer. In their last night Gwaine had come to Percival to talk. They had talked. They had both been reasonable. They had known that it wouldn’t work, that it had to stop. Absolutely rational they had decided it had to stop. Without shouting, without arguing, without crying they had decided that. Had been agreed. That it was over now. Goodbye sex. As great as always. As bitter as never before.

 

Because they loved each other. Although.

 

\+ + +

 

That had been one and a half year ago. They hadn’t seen each other more than accidently when they met somewhere on the road. Or on occansion when Gwaine was back at Camelot for some days. Gwaine had asked Arthur to free him of his duty and returned to his former lifestyle of straying and wandering. Still helping people on his way. Still a knight of Camelot. For Arthur wouldn’t release him for good. For he was a good man after all.

Percival had stayed. Fulfilled his duty. Patrolled. Fought for his king.

 

Each of them living his own life.

 

Until this very evening, when Gwaine was standing in front of Percival’s door. The guards still knew him. The key. Still the same. But now, standing there in front of Percival there was no doorlock, no key.

 

And that Gwaine was here tonight wasn’t a new beginning. It wasn’t a promise. Because Gwaine was still the same.

 

Percival knew all of it. But he also knew that he’d made it the farthest. Nobody else had screwed Gwaine up as much as he did. For nobody else Gwaine had made so many concessions. Not that it would change anything. Not that Gwaine could make him happy. Tomorrow already he would be gone again. With his head in the wide world. Always the wide world. But today his heart was here. Just this once.

 

“Y’know, Perce. You were always. And will always be. The second half. Of me.”

 

An ugly wound had been torn into Percival’s heart when Gwaine had walked away, back then. The second half of love. Always. A scar now. Not pretty, not honourable. But although, no matter how long it had taken. Only scar now. Percival stroked through Gwaine’s hair again.

 

Today Gwaine’s heart was here. And it simply wasn’t enough. It was a bit nostalgia, a small sip, nipping a little at the bittersweet scent of the past. Since.

 

Although.

Always.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I am sorry Gwaine is pictured so negative. I can't say how this happend. I don't even really ship them. But sometimes it just happens like that.


End file.
